So they crossed to the other border, and again they formed in order; And the boats came back for soldiers, came for soldiers, soldiers still: The time seemed everlasting to us women faint and fasting,-- 55 At last they"re moving, marching, marching proudly up the hill.
We can see the bright steel glancing all along the lines advancing-- Now the front rank fires a volley--they have thrown away their shot; For behind their earthwork lying, all the b.a.l.l.s above them flying, Our people need not hurry; so they wait and answer not. 60
Then the Corporal, our old cripple (he would swear sometimes and tipple),-- He had heard the bullets whistle (in the old French war) before,-- Calls out in words of jeering, just as if they all were hearing,-- And his wooden leg thumps fiercely on the dusty belfry floor:--
"Oh! fire away, ye villains, and earn King George"s shillin"s, 65 But ye"ll waste a ton of powder afore a "rebel" falls; You may bang the dirt and welcome, they"re as safe as Dan"l Malcolm[333]
Ten foot beneath the gravestone that you"ve splintered with your b.a.l.l.s!"
In the hush of expectation, in the awe and trepidation Of the dread approaching moment, we are well-nigh breathless all; 70 Though the rotten bars are failing on the rickety belfry railing, We are crowding up against them like the waves against a wall.
Just a glimpse (the air is clearer), they are nearer,--nearer, --nearer, When a flash--a curling smoke-wreath--then a crash--the steeple shakes-- The deadly truce is ended; the tempest"s shroud is rended; 75 Like a morning mist is gathered, like a thunder-cloud it breaks!
O the sight our eyes discover as the blue-black smoke blows over!
The red-coats stretched in windrows as a mower rakes his hay; Here a scarlet heap is lying, there a headlong crowd is flying Like a billow that has broken and is shivered into spray. 80
Then we cried, "The troops are routed! they are beat--it can"t be doubted!
G.o.d be thanked, the fight is over!"--Ah! the grim old soldier"s smile!
"Tell us, tell us why you look so?" (we could hardly speak we shook so),-- "Are they beaten? _Are_ they beaten? ARE they beaten?"--"Wait a while."
O the trembling and the terror! for too soon we saw our error: 85 They are baffled, not defeated; we have driven them back in vain; And the columns that were scattered, round the colors that were tattered, Toward the sullen silent fortress turn their belted b.r.e.a.s.t.s again.
All at once, as we were gazing, lo! the roofs of Charlestown blazing!
They have fired the harmless village; in an hour it will be down! 90 The Lord in Heaven confound them, rain his fire and brimstone round them,-- The robbing, murdering red-coats, that would burn a peaceful town!
They are marching, stern and solemn; we can see each ma.s.sive column As they near the naked earth-mound with the slanting walls so steep.
Have our soldiers got faint-hearted, and in noiseless haste departed? 95 Are they panic-struck and helpless? Are they palsied or asleep?
Now! the walls they"re almost under! scarce a rod the foes asunder!
Not a firelock flashed against them! up the earthwork they will swarm!
But the words have scarce been spoken when the ominous calm is broken, And a bellowing crash has emptied all the vengeance of the storm! 100
So again, with murderous slaughter, pelted backwards to the water, Fly Pigot"s running heroes and the frightened braves of Howe; And we shout, "At last they"re done for, it"s their barges they have run for: They are beaten, beaten, beaten; and the battle"s over now!"
And we looked, poor timid creatures, on the rough old soldier"s features, 105 Our lips afraid to question, but he knew what we would ask: "Not sure," he said; "keep quiet,--once more, I guess, they"ll try it-- Here"s d.a.m.nation to the cut-throats!" then he handed me his flask,
Saying, "Gal, you"re looking shaky; have a drop of Old Jamaiky; I"m afeared there"ll be more trouble afore the job is done;" 110 So I took one scorching swallow; dreadful faint I felt and hollow, Standing there from early morning when the firing was begun.
All through those hours of trial I had watched a calm clock dial, As the hands kept creeping, creeping,--they were creeping round to four, When the old man said, "They"re forming with their bayonets fixed for storming: 115 It"s the death-grip that"s a-coming,--they will try the works once more."
With brazen trumpets blaring, the flames behind them glaring, The deadly wall before them, in close array they come; Still onward, upward toiling, like a dragon"s fold uncoiling,-- Like the rattlesnake"s shrill warning the reverberating drum! 120
Over heaps all torn and gory--shall I tell the fearful story, How they surged above the breastwork, as a sea breaks over a deck; How, driven, yet scarce defeated, our worn-out men retreated, With their powder-horns all emptied, like the swimmers from a wreck?
It has all been told and painted; as for me, they say I fainted, 125 And the wooden-legged old Corporal stumped with me down the stair: When I woke from dreams affrighted the evening lamps were lighted,-- On the floor a youth was lying; his bleeding breast was bare.
And I heard through all the flurry, "Send for Warren! hurry!
hurry!
Tell him here"s a soldier bleeding, and he"ll come and dress his wound!" 130 Ah, we knew not till the morrow told its tale of death and sorrow, How the starlight found him stiffened on the dark and b.l.o.o.d.y ground.
Who the youth was, what his name was, where the place from which he came was, Who had brought him from the battle, and had left him at our door, He could not speak to tell us; but "twas one of our brave fellows, 135 As the homespun plainly showed us which the dying soldier wore.
For they all thought he was dying, as they gathered round him crying,-- And they said, "Oh, how they"ll miss him!" and, "What _will_ his mother do?"
Then, his eyelids just unclosing like a child"s that has been dozing, He faintly murmured, "Mother!"--and--I saw his eyes were blue. 140
--"Why, grandma, how you"re winking!"--Ah, my child, it sets me thinking Of a story not like this one. Well, he somehow lived along; So we came to know each other, and I nursed him like a--mother, Till at last he stood before me, tall, and rosy-cheeked, and strong.
And we sometimes walked together in the pleasant summer weather; 145 --"Please to tell us what his name was?"--Just your own, my little dear.
There"s his picture Copley[334] painted: we became so well acquainted, That,--in short, that"s why I"m grandma, and you children are all here!"
NOTES
WILLIAM COWPER
William Cowper was born at Great Berkhamstead, Hertfordshire, England, in 1731. He was educated first at a private school and afterwards at Westminster in London. He studied law, but his progress in the profession was blocked because of an attack of insanity brought on in 1763 by nervousness over an oral examination for a clerkship in the House of Commons. After fifteen months he recovered and went to live at Huntingdon, where he met the Unwin family and began what was to be a lifelong friendship with Mrs. Unwin. Upon Mr. Unwin"s death in 1767, Cowper moved with Mrs. Unwin to Olney, pa.s.sing a secluded life there until 1786. In 1773 he suffered a second attack of melancholia, which lasted sixteen months. Soon after his recovery he cooperated with the Rev. John Newton in writing the well-known _Olney Hymns_ (1779). In 1782 he published his first volume of poems, and a second volume followed in 1785, containing _The Task_, _Tirocinium_, and the ballad of _John Gilpin_. A translation of Homer was completed in 1791. After 1791 his reason became hopelessly deranged, and he pa.s.sed the time until his death in 1800 in utter misery.
Cowper was a man of kind and gentle character, a lover of nature in her milder aspects, and especially fond of animals. As one of the forerunners of the so-called Romantic movement in English poetry, his name is significant. Though at his best in work of a descriptive or satiric kind, he was also gifted with a subtle humor which appears frequently in many short tales and ballads. A good biography of Cowper is that by Goldwin Smith in the English Men of Letters Series.
THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN (Page 1)
The story of John Gilpin was told to Cowper by his friend, Lady Austen, who had heard it when a child. The poet, upon whom the tale made a deep impression, eventually turned it into this ballad, which was first published anonymously in the _Public Advertiser_ for November 14, 1782.
It became popular at once, and is to-day probably the most widely known of the author"s works. It is written in the conventional ballad metre, and preserves many expressions characteristic of the primitive English ballad style.
[1] 3. =Eke=; also.
[2] 11. =Edmonton= is a suburb a few miles directly north of London.
[3] 16. =After we.= John Gilpin"s wife does not hesitate to sacrifice grammar for the sake of rime.
[4] 23. =Calender=; one who operates a calender, a machine for giving cloth or paper a smooth, glossy surface.
[5] 39. =Agog=; eager.
[6] 44. =Cheapside= was one of the most important of the old London streets.
[7] 49. The =saddletree= is the frame of the saddle.
[8] 115. =Carries weight.= The bottles seem to resemble the weights carried in horse races by the jockeys.
[9] 133. =Islington=, now part of London, was then one of its suburbs.
[10] 152. =Ware= is a town about fifteen miles north of London.
[11] 178. =Pin=; mood.